Peaches and Cream
by TerraBerra
Summary: A twist on the traditional Harry-moves-in-with-Sirius-post-3rd-year fic. What if Harry brings a friend with him? A friend who clashes with his godfather? Where will Harry's loyalties lie? And bonding over ... a camping trip? Very AU.
1. Let the Truth Be Told or In Which this

Disclaimer: Everything in the Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling. The Lion King belongs to Disney.

A/N: Yes, yes, I know, I have to update my other fics, but ... what can I say? This just hit me. As always, thanks so much to my ever faithful Beta, The Sadistic Master! Couldn't have done it without you!

You might get a bit confused at first, but trust me, the pieces will all sink in. Dara is not, I hope, a Mary Sue

As this is, at heart, a Harry-moves-in-with-Sirius story, it _has_ to have all those traditional moments in it, but I will try to make this my own.

Oh yes, and absolutely NO romance in this story. At all. Period.

* * *

Chapter 1 – Let The Truth Be Told or In Which this Fic Becomes AU

Sirius couldn't believe his luck. He was once again traveling that oh-so-familiar path, that underground tunnel that connected the Shrieking Shack with the Hogwarts grounds. He could very well remember the first time he'd taken this route.

He couldn't have been more than fifteen. He'd just transformed for the fourth – no, the _fifth _time in his life, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and eager for adventure. James had been the same, and Peter perhaps too much so. He'd wet himself before transforming, an event that never repeated, in spite of the incident being the butt of many jokes for years to come.

The three of them had crept along this very path. They'd had no idea what they'd find at the end of the tunnel, no idea what a werewolf looked like.

What an extraordinary group they must have appeared to be: a large dog and a stag following a _rat_ in single file.

_Although this is a pretty strange group too_, he reminded himself, coming back to the present with an unpleasant jolt, his stomach twisting in protest to the rat he'd eaten that afternoon.

After making sure it wasn't Peter, of course.

He'd made up his mind not to kill Peter until Harry knew the truth. Although that resolution had been sorely tested once he'd actually laid eyes on the rat in the Weasley boy's hands.

Speaking of whom, the Weasley boy and Remus were chained to Peter and were silently following Crookshanks down the tunnel. He and Harry followed, Sirius levitating Snape along in front of him with Remus' wand. Two girls, one brown-haired and one blonde, whispered quietly.

"_You think he's telling the truth_?" asked the blonde girl doubtfully.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who the girl was talking about.

_What was her name again? Debbie? Darla? Darla, that's it_.

"Dara, Peter Pettigrew appeared out of nowhe- out of a rat!" _Or Dara_, Sirius thought sheepishly. He turned to the side, inconspicuously, he hoped, and saw that Harry – that couldn't be Harry! He was positively _old_ – was listening to the girls as well. He wore a sad smile on his face, and there was pain in his eyes as well.

_He trusts me, _Sirius realized. _The girls don't – well, one of them, anyway – but Harry does and he doesn't like that they don't_.

Far from reassuring him, the idea scared Sirius half to death. That was something they'd have to work on. Any old Death Eater could have shown up – they were not as commonplace as during the War, but there were still plenty of them around – and claimed to be James' best friend … and Harry would have believed them.

No, that wasn't exactly true; he hadn't, not at first, which was a good sign, but all it had taken was Remus' approval and Peter's appearance and then he'd believed Sirius' story.

Although truth be told, Harry had performed better than Sirius had expected. He was the very opposite of naïve – cautious and wary of trickery. He'd never imagined Harry to be that mature, and it hurt him as much as it cheered. _More_.

"_There's no way he could have faked that_!" the brown-haired girl was saying.

"_I know_," the blonde girl said. "_I know, but …_"

When it became apparent that she wasn't going to say anything more, Sirius turned his attention back to his godson.

"You'll have to tell me all about your friends," he said to Harry. "I don't know them at all, but I'd like to. Get to know you. All four of you."

"Okay."

"You know what turning Peter in means?"

"They'll know you're innocent."

"That's right, Harry." _Oh, great going, Black, way to go! Treat him like a baby, why don't you? That's right, Harry, you found your nose! I'm no good at this_.

"You'll be free," Harry was saying. "No more running."

"Well," Sirius began again, "I was hoping you could join me in my … in my not-running."

'_Not-running?' Even better, Black. I can hear his eyes rolling all the way over here_!

But Harry did nothing of the sort, only gave him a careful, questioning, horribly guarded look. _Way too mature._ "You want me to move in with you?"

"Only … only if you wanted to leave your aunt and uncle," Sirius quickly added. "If you wanted … I'll completely understand if-"

"Are you mad?" Harry cried incredulously. "Of course I want to leave!"

Sirius narrowed his eyes as Harry babbled on. That was quick. Too quick. He'd have to talk to Remus, see what he thought about Harry's acceptance.

That was the sensible Sirius. The Serious Sirius, pun very much intended.

The REAL Sirius was trying very hard to contain his joy so as not to embarrass his godson any more than necessary. His face cracked into painful smile.

"You're not serious?"

Harry's teeth glinted white in the darkness as he gave a grin of his own. "Do you _want_ me to respond to that?"

It was quiet for a minute or two. Then Harry spoke again, this time his tone halting and uncertain.

"Er – Sirius – d'you think –"

"Shut up, Harry!"

The procession stopped. Everyone turned and stared at the speaker – the petite blonde girl at the back of the line.

"What're you-?" began the Weasley boy.

"Oh, come on!" Harry retorted loudly, ignoring his friend's sputtering confusion. "Don't tell me you want to stay with –"

"Can we _move_?" the blonde girl insisted. "No one's gonna get freed if we just stand around here."

Harry fell back to walk next to the blonde girl. The brown-haired girl sped up to give them a little privacy. Sirius allowed Snape's head bob up and down as he floated in midair, throwing anxious glances behind him all the while.

"It's his version of dancing," he explained to the brown-haired girl when he noticed her staring at him. She didn't smile; she kept throwing nervous glances towards Harry and the blonde girl, who were arguing in hushed tones.

"Is she usually like that?" he asked.

"No," the girl said, biting her lip. "She's never – well, one time. But that was a couple years ago and … I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"You're worried about your friend," Sirius said. "Nothing wrong with that."

She didn't say anything, just kept watching the pair as the group made their way out of the tunnel and onto the Hogwarts grounds.

* * *

Harry leaned back against a large rock in the Forbidden Forest. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he could change what had happened, Pettigrew escaping, the dementors nearly getting Sirius – heck, he wished he could change what had happened when his mum and dad had chosen the wrong man as their Secret Keeper.

But noooo. He wasn't supposed to change time. Even though that's what they had used the Time-Turner for in the first place.

"Harry? Lupin's just gone in," Hermione said.

"What are we supposed to do, let it all happen again?"

"You can't be seen!"

"I won't be!" Harry shot back. "I'll run and get the Invisibility Cloak and bring down the Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin –"

"_No_, Harry," Hermione whispered back, stroking Buckbeak's feathery neck. "You can't do _anything_."

"There's Snape," Harry commented dryly. "Too late now. Though I _could_ run out there, he doesn't know I'm in the Shrieking Shack –"

"Harry, he's going to go down to the Shack no matter what. He'll see you."

"Oh."

She reached out, meaning to hold her friend's arm protectively.

"Don't touch me," Harry snapped.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered. Dara was the only one Harry allowed to touch him.

She used to be jealous of Dara. When they were younger. She'd been absolutely _smitten _with Harry and couldn't understand why he got so upset if anyone made any attempts at a comforting gesture.

Except Dara. Her entire first year, she'd thought Harry and Dara were boyfriend/girlfriend.

But that, of course, was rubbish.

"There we are," Harry said a little while later. "We're coming out now … and then Lupin'll transform, and Sirius, and Peter'll run away, the dementors will come, we'll all pass out … and then what? We fly Buckbeak up to Flitwick's off… did you see Peter after he'd transformed and run into the woods?"

"No …" Hermione said slowly, comprehension dawning on her face.

"Exactly!" Harry cried, jumping up excitedly. Outside the forest, Lupin's cried indicated that he was transforming. "Hermione – we could catch Peter!"

"Bring him to Dumbledore!"

"And no one would know that it hadn't happened the first time!"

"Harry, this _is_ the first time. This is the _only_ time."

"Whatever," Harry said dismissively, not willing to think about the confusing aspects of time travel. He watched Sirius in his dog form wrestle with the werewolf. "Lupin's going to come into the forest at almost the exact same spot as Peter, so we've got to be ready to run as soon as we catch the rat."

"Okay," Hermione agreed, hurrying off in the direction of the group by the base of the Whomping Willow. "Tie Buckbeak up – we'll come back later to get him."

"Right," said Harry, reaching for the rope. "Then we'll go down to the lake so I can see my dad."

"What?"

"Later. Come on!"

Harry tied a hasty knot around the trunk of a tree, then he left the silvery-gray hippogriff in the clearing, and ran – _come on, faster,_ faster! – to the place in the forest where Peter had disappeared.

"_Oh no you don't!" _

But the people by the Whomping Willow couldn't do anything, Peter'd transformed into a rat and was headed right for the forest – right where Harry and Hermione were …

They got into position – Harry near the edge of the forest and Hermione waiting about ten feet behind him, just in case he missed Pettigrew the first time –

_Not likely. Definitely not happening, _Harry thought, strengthening his resolve.

There was a rustling in the bushes behind Harry – he jerked around and noticed too late the scampering footsteps as Peter scurried past him …

He ran to Hermione, scouring the ground for any sign of the rat …

As he watched, Hermione lunged and shrieked. She twisted around on the forest floor – but she'd lost him as well …

"Harry, we've got to go," she whispered. "Now! The werewolf!"

"You go," Harry said tensely. "He's somewhere close, I know he is – I'm going to find him, even if it takes a million years …"

There was a small, frightened _squeak _from somewhere below him – he fell to the ground, threw himself as far as he could, and caught – – – and caught a tail!

"I … I got him," Harry said, hardly daring to believe it. "I got him!"

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Sirius landed on the topmost tower of the castle. They slid off Buckbeak, and Harry turned, grinning broadly, to face his godfather.

"I did it!" he said happily, grinning like mad. "I caught him!"

"_No_," Sirius breathed. "You got him?"

"I got him."

Sirius pulled Harry into a brief, one-armed hug. "Nice one! Now what? We take him to Dumbledore?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "But we can't reveal him until we've got a lot of witnesses there, just to be safe. And it's be best if you could stay hidden, Mr. Bla … Sirius, because if Fudge sees you, he'll kill you right away."

"I'm a bit more worried about Snivellus, to tell the truth," Sirius said, laughing a little. The moonlight washed over his face, making it appear more waxy and gaunt than it already was.

"Who?"

"Snape. I'll save _that_ little tale for a bedtime story, all right, kid?"

"Fine by me," Harry replied with a grin. _Fine by me_.

Additional A/N: For an accurate portrayal of a version of the Time Turner, I suggest you watch The Lion King and The Lion King 1 1/2.


	2. Memories or In Which Letters Are Sent an...

Chapter 2 – Memories or In Which Letters Are Sent and a Friendship is (Somewhat) Mended

The rest of the term passed in a brilliant happiness.

Professor Lupin was set on resigning, no matter what Harry, Dara, Ron, or Hermione said to try and talk him out of it, so Defense lessons were canceled for the remainder of the year.

It had taken awhile – and a couple body-bind spells – for Minister Fudge to accept the truth, but he had eventually seen reason. Sirius had been cleared of every single charge ever made against him, even a couple of AWI (Apperating While Intoxicated) citations from 1979. Peter would spend two months in Azkaban pending the administration of the Dementor's Kiss.

Sirius had agreed to hide the hippogriff at his house until Hagrid could ensure a fair trial for him. Which, in Harry's opinion, could take years, so Buckbeak was semi-permanently residing in Mrs. Black's old bedroom.

Sirius wrote to Harry nearly every day; he received nearly ten letters in those last two weeks of term. Once, Harry had casually mentioned in a reply letter that he doubted he'd gotten as many letters in his three years at Hogwarts as he had in the past weeks. In his next letter, Sirius enclosed twenty galleons and a postscript that instructed Harry to "_sneak off to Honeydukes and buy the place out_".

"_I know this doesn't even begin to make up for not being there for you," _Sirius continued, "_but it's a start, don't you think?_"

Harry had smiled as he'd pocketed the galleons. He'd made up his mind to buy Sirius something with that money the next time he went to Diagon Alley. _A model of a Firebolt, maybe_.

Yes, that would be appropriate, Harry decided. After all, Sirius had bought him the real thing, as he'd told him in his first letter.

"_Remus is going to move in with us,_" Sirius said in another letter. "_Only he doesn't know it yet. Says he doesn't want to be a burden. Don't worry, I'll crack him_.

"_There's no way this old place is going to be ready in time. Hasn't been cleaned in years. Hope you don't mind a little dirt and grime. Can't wait for you to get here_."

Life with the Marauders was certainly going to be … interesting.

Harry wasn't too giddy to notice his best friend's sour disposition in those last two weeks of term, though. He did feel a little guilty as he watched Dara sink deeper and deeper into a depression of sorts. It wasn't _his_ fault. He'd tried to ask Sirius if Dara could move in with them – it wasn't _his _fault that she'd cut him off before he'd gotten the chance. It wasn't _his _fault that she was now facing a summer alone with the Dursleys.

But he still felt guilty. Dara had been his best friend – before Ron, before Hermione, even before Hogwarts.

He could still remember the first time he'd met Dara. The three of them – he, Dudley, and Dara – had been eight. A large, middle-aged woman called Mrs. Stamphard had brought her in. She'd sat the two boys down in the living room while Aunt Petunia had taken Dara into another room, muttering something about "sorting through these clothes of yours". Mrs. Stamphard had explained to them that they should be nice to Dara.

"Her mummy died in a car crash, and her daddy can't take care of her right now," she'd said. "Dara's feeling very upset and scared right now, the poor dear, so you'll have to make her feel very welcome. Can you do that for me?"

Both boys had nodded. Dudley had, needless to say, broken his promise.

Now, Harry wondered if the social worker had ever talked to Dara about how she was feeling. Because when he had spoken to Dara later that day, she'd sounded more excited than anything else.

At the time, Harry hadn't been able to understand why on earth Aunt Petunia was willing to take in someone else's kid when she complained about _him _all the time. He understood _now_, of course. The $5600 that came with her yearly was always useful around the house.

Harry shook himself out of the past. It was after dinner, and he, Dara, Ron, and Hermione were in Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Hermione were playing a game of chess – well, Ron was playing. Hermione had half her mind on a book in her lap – and he was watching Dara draw.

_At least she's not too upset to draw_, Harry told himself optimistically, although that was little consolation. Ever since that night in the Shrieking Shack, Dara'd only drawn small little figures lost in a world of darkness.

Harry was more cheerful the day before the end of term that year than he'd ever been before. He, Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were scouring their dorm for anything they might have missed.

"Anyone seen my _History of Magic_?" called Seamus.

"There's three copies over there," supplied Ron helpfully from his position on the floor. He had an arm under his bed, apparently reaching for something. "Which one's yours?"

"The one with my name in it, dolt!" he said sarcastically. "How am _I_ supposed to know, they all look the same!"

"I'd leave the bloody thing here if I was you," put in Dean. "Aren't gonna use it much over holiday, will you?"

"Nah, if I leave it here it'll probably end up in Lost and Found and I'd never see it again …"

"Is that supposed to be a bad thing?" asked Harry with a smirk. Neville laughed.

Seamus grinned back. "Not that I care about the bloody book, mind," he said. "But I'd catch it from my dad, he'd have to buy me a new one. And, you know, he's a muggle, he's not comfortable around magic and things."

Harry dropped the subject and turned his attention back to emptying out his bedside cabinet. He tried to imagine what if would be like to have to ask Uncle Vernon for money to buy a new textbook.

Harry found he had to fight very hard not to snort out loud.

"Hey, Harry. Got everything?"

He straightened up at the sound of Dara's voice. At the end of their first year, she'd insisted on packing his trunk for him. Which, of course, made him the laughing-stock of the dorm. Dean and Seamus had even started calling her "Mum". The thought still brought a grin to his face, even two years later. Harry wouldn't let her pack his trunk, but she still liked to come in and check up on him every now and then.

_And if that's what having a "Mum" is like_, Harry thought, quite soberly, _I could live with it_.

"Yeah, Dair, I've got it all.

Dara looked around at the obvious state of disarray the room was in. "Hope so."

"If I forget anything, _Sirius _can buy a replacement," Harry said, hating himself. Ron shot him a painful _Whaddidyadothatfor_? glare.

Dara's eyes filled, but Harry knew she wouldn't cry. The only time he'd seen her cry was the first time Dudley had tried to punch her.

Note: tried.

He'd come right up to her, the old familiar glint in his eye. But she'd refused to be intimidated; she'd planted her feet firmly on the ground and said in a loud, carrying voice, "You can't hurt _girls_."

He'd left her alone.

Harry, of course, had _had_ to try that trick on Dudley. He'd spent weeks screwing up the courage to look his cousin stoutly in the eye and say, "You can't hurt _boys_." Needless to say, it hadn't worked.

In any case, Dara'd burst into tears immediately after Dudley had run off that first time. Harry'd simply stood by, unsure of what to say to cheer her up – unsure of what was even wrong!

Afterwards, he'd sworn to himself that he'd comfort her the next time she started crying. But that opportunity had never shown itself.

_Stay focused, Harry_, he scolded himself, bringing his mind back to Gryffindor Tower. Dara was looking at him, obviously expecting him to apologize. _Well, I'm not_.

She finally gave up. "Can … can I talk to you outside?"

"All right."

They left the dorm to a chorus of "Bye Mum!" from Dean and Seamus.

Dara started right away, shaking her short blonde hair out of her face. Look, I know you were going to ask Sirius if I could move in with you –"

"How do _you _know?" Harry shot back. "I could have been asking … what animal my dad could turn into, or … Not everything's always about you."

"But were you? Asking about me?"

"Yeah …"

"I really appreciate the offer," she said, her brown eyes earnest and wide. "But – I don't want to – to … to get between you two. You really don't want me there with you, getting in the way and everything."

"I don't want you to have to live with the Dursleys alone," Harry retorted.

"I won't be alone, I've got my darling Dinky Diddidums for moral support."

"That's not funny."

"Sorry. I won't be there long," she continued, trying to reassure him. "I got a letter from Mrs. Weasley this morning, inviting me to the Burrow …"

"Why not go straight there?"

"Mrs. Stamphard's coming next week," she explained. "They don't know that I spend most of the year at Hogwarts. If I'm not there, the Dursleys don't get their money for this year."

"So? Their loss, not yours."

"If they don't get the money, they'll never let me back in the house. I'd rather not burn all my bridges at once, all right?"

"Fine," Harry snapped.

"I'll probably go to Ron's in a few weeks," Dara said. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Then, changing the subject, he said, "You'll take my room?

"If I can," she replied. Harry had moved from the cupboard under the stairs and now slept in Dudley's second bedroom, but Dara was still sleeping on the same folding cot in the laundry room she'd used since her first night in the Dursley household.

"I'd always wanted to turn Dudley's hair green," Harry said, putting his hand on the doorknob behind him. "Will you do it for me?"

"I'll try."

"Yeah." There was silence, neither wanting to leave, neither wanting to stay.

"Well … I've still got some packing …"

"Yeah," Harry said. "See you."

Dara started on a new drawing the moment she got back to her dorm. Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender chatted quietly as they packed, but Dara, who'd finished days ago, simply closed the curtains on her four-poster, leaned back on her pillow, and took out her sketchbook.

What she'd told Harry was the truth, just not the whole truth. She'd never dream of getting between Harry and his newly discovered godfather, that much was certain. But there was more too it, she realized, sketching a few tentative lines on the cream-colored paper with a soft pencil. There was also the fact that she was bitterly jealous of him. He finally had somebody _real_, somebody who _wanted_ to look after him.

And who did she have? Her dad, a no-good drunk who still, even after six years of separation, refused to get help so he could regain custody of his daughter. And Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.

Snort.

She would always remember the day she'd moved in with the Dursleys. In the months since her mother had died, well … she hadn't been very happy. Her father had seldom stayed at home before the car crash. When her mother died, he quit his job (well, okay, he never had a job, but he quit whatever he'd been doing) and stayed at home full-time. When she was younger, she'd used to wish that he would stay home more often. But in those few months she'd found herself wishing more and more that he would just go away.

Not _die_, just … leave.

So when she'd entered Number Four, Privet Drive, she'd been delighted. The Dursleys were really rich, she could have new clothes (that's what Mrs. Stamphard had said, anyway), make new friends in a new school (ones who didn't know about her mother dying), and have a little vacation from her father.

A little vacation.

That's what Mrs. Stamphard had said.

Mrs. Stamphard had never understood. Harry had, though.

_Harry_ … Harry had seemed too similar to herself back then. His parents died in a car crash, or so she had believed, and he was all alone just like her. Things had changed so much when they'd gone to Hogwarts. Everyone knew Harry, or James and Lily. Everyone was somehow connected to them. Harry was important. And she was still a nobody.

But that didn't mean Harry had to feel guilty about anything, did it? Now she felt guilty, guilty because now _Harry_ felt guilty that he had a proper family and she didn't.

_All right_, she scolded herself. _Enough of that for today. Get on with the drawing, already_.


	3. First Night, First Goodbyes or In Which ...

Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter world belong to me: it all belongs to JK Rowling.

A/N:This chapter is a bit on the longer side. Once again, thanks to The Sadistic Master,my Adorable, Beautiful, Creative, Dedicated etc. beta. Never has arguing whether "on" should be put in a sentence or not been more fun.

* * *

Chapter 3 – First Night, First Goodbyes or In Which Harry Has the Best Night of His Life

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 ¾ with a loud hiss of steam. The students disembarked noisily, as always.

_Ah, the good old days_, thought Sirius wistfully as he watched the commotion. He was beginning to grow uneasy. _Why am I waiting here? I should be on the Muggle side, that's where all the other parents are waiting. Good going, Black, embarrass the kid your first day as a responsible adult, why don't you_?

No good, it was too late to go back. Harry would no doubt have seen him by now, he'd panic if he got off the train and Sirius was gone.

The past two weeks had been murder. He'd tried to get Black Manor in order, which was no small task. The place had not been cleaned in literally _years_. Kreacher certainly hadn't been doing a very good job.

Sirius smiled as he remembered the discovery of the ancient house elf. It had been his first afternoon at the manor. Remus had come by to help him begin the clean up and make the place at least _bearable_.

Remus had heard a rattling in an upstairs bedroom as they were surveying the work to be done in the kitchen. They'd hurried upstairs, fearing Puffskeins at best and Acromantulas at worst.

When Kreacher had stepped out of the dusty armoire, Sirius had at first thought he was a boggart – he certainly looked like something from Sirius' worst nightmares. It was only after shooting several _Riddikulus _spells at the elf that Sirius was convinced otherwise.

His shock had quickly disappeared, however. He'd freed the elf that same afternoon, though he'd regretted it after seeing the layer of grime that had built up in the master bathroom over the years.

But now the house was finally _clean_.

It was also empty.

Or nearly so. Much of the furniture Sirius' mother had left behind was moldy and mildewed and not fit to live with. He and Remus had only left a table and four chairs in the basement kitchen, a sofa and a couple of armchairs in one of the drawing rooms and most of the light fixtures in the entire house. The house elf heads, the Black Family Tapestry, and Sirius' mother's portrait had been taken down and burned in the backyard.

Sirius planned to take Harry shopping that afternoon. Hopefully they'd be able to buy a few good mattresses before it got too late. _Hope he's up for it_.

He grinned broadly as Harry made his way over with a crowd of Weasleys and the two girls following behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked once he got close enough.

"Picking you up, what else?"

Harry shook his head, though he was still smiling. "I mean _here_. Why aren't you on the Muggle side?"

"Well, you see, this is as close to the train as I could get without actually standing on the tracks …"

Harry flushed considerably. Sirius grinned.

"Score: me – one, you – zip," he said, issuing a challenge. "Now, I don't seem to know all your names," he addressed the group at large. "I've got – Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Darla – Dara, sorry, and Her- Her-something. And _you_ must be the lovely Draco Malfoy I've heard so much about," he said to Harry. "Wait, that's two for me," he added as Harry's face grew redder.

* * *

Harry didn't mention that he was more embarrassed for Sirius's sake than his own. But no one else seemed to find his godfather odd – they all laughed. _With_ him.

Hermione, Dara, and the Weasleys all introduced themselves, and then they walked through the barrier to join Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the Granger, and the Dursleys on the other side.

* * *

Dara watched Mrs. Weasley hug all her children – and even some that weren't hers – enthusiastically. Sirius said, "Your grandma used to be the same way. Used to drive James crazy."

He'd meant the words for Harry, of course, but Dara couldn't help overhearing. She _hated_ this! _Everybody_ seemed to have some obscure connection to Harry's past: Professor Lupin, Snape, Dumbledore, Hagrid – everyone! How many times had she heard that same old "You look like your dad, but you've got your mother's eyes" line?

And just how many people were around to tell _her_ things about the past, about her mother, about the way her father used to be before he started drinking, about her _grandmother_, even? Anything.

But nooo, all anyone ever cared about was _Harry_ –

Just then, Mrs. Weasley gathered her up into a tight hug.

"_You'll come right home with us_," she affirmed.

"_No_," Dara whispered back. "_Thanks for the invitation, Mrs. Weasley, but I think I'll go with the Dursleys for awhile. I need some – downtime, you know_?"

"_Whatever you say, dear. Be sure to write if you need anything_."

"_I will._"

* * *

"Wow, thanks for the owl, Sirius," said Ron. Hermione was peering closely at it.

"He's … cute," she said slowly.

Cute was a bit of an overstatement, in Sirius' opinion. The owl, whom he'd discovered half-dead outside the Hogsmeade Owl Office and then nursed back to health, was very small. He also happened to have a face that looked like it had been smashed into a brick wall. Repeatedly.

"No problem," said Sirius. "I don't know how reliable he'll be, since he's so small, but I felt bad, it being my fault you don't have a pet rat anymore."

"Yeah," Ron said, "that whole thing was a bit scary. Honestly, who would ever imagine that their pet rat was really –"

"That's enough, Ron," Hermione cut in before he could say anything else.

"Speaking of rats," said Sirius, "last I heard, Hogwarts hadn't changed its rules about pets. 'Students may bring either an owl, a cat, or a toad,' right?"

"Well, as Scabbers was small, I could …"

"Smuggle him in?" finished Sirius with a smirk. "You've got the makings of a fine Marauder."

Ron's ears glowed red as he flushed with pride.

Sirius turned his attention to the, erm, big-boned Muggle fight his way through the crowd towards them. He felt, rather than saw, Harry draw instinctively to his side. Ah. Vernon Dursley. Perfect.

He hadn't had an opportunity to talk to Remus about Harry's aunt and uncle yet, but he'd picked up on the general idea that Harry wasn't very fond of them. And that was enough for Sirius to dislike them as well.

"Ready to go?" asked Vernon gruffly.

Harry looked up at Sirius, an apologetic look on his face. _He hasn't told his uncle yet. Even better_.

"Well?" Vernon said impatiently. "Dudley and your aunt are waiting in the car. We've got to be home soon."

"I didn't know _Great Humberto_ was still on at six," remarked Dara from behind them. Harry flashed a quick grin.

"Mr. Dursley, I presume," said Sirius, offering his hand. Vernon didn't take it.

Not that he was surprised. Sirius tried to picture himself through the other man's eyes. Twelve years in Azkaban and one on the run had left their mark on his body. His skin was even paler than the famous Malfoy complexion. His cheeks were shrunken, and he knew his eyes were ringed with set-in bags.

"Who wants to know?" Vernon asked testily.

Ignoring the question, Sirius continued. "Thank you very much for looking after Harry while I was … indisposed … but I'd like to take him home with me now."

"And just who are you?"

"His godfather."

Vernon stopped to consider the implications of this simple sentence. "Boy hasn't got one," he finally said tersely.

"Ah, and yet – here I am. Confuddling, isn't it?"

The man seemed at a loss for what to say. "Yes, well. You – Dara."

The girl turned. She'd been saying good bye to Ron and Hermione while Sirius had been greeting Vernon.

"You coming?"

She nodded, and then said, "Yeah. Yes, sir."

"Come on, then," he said. "Be seeing you –" to Sirius and Harry.

Sirius felt his eyes draw wide as he finally realized what Harry had meant to ask him that night at the Shrieking Shack. _D'you think Dara could come with us too_?

He would have said yes.

"Hold up a sec," she said, bending over and undoing the lock on her trunk. She pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

"Here," Dara said, pressing it into Harry's arms. "I'll … be at Ron's in a few weeks, all right?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Look –" he lowered his voice so Sirius had to strain to hear him – "you don't owe them anything."

"Four years, Harry."

He sighed. "All right then. See you."

"Happy Holidays."

And she ran after Vernon Dursley, blonde hair bouncing in the wind.

* * *

Any visions Sirius had had of Godfather and Godson merrily skipping from store to store, happily purchasing furniture for their bare house had been dashed, trampled by wild hippogriffs, and thrown in the garbage by the time they finally returned home later that evening.

"Promise," Sirius managed to gasp out as they lay sprawled on the dusty couch in the otherwise empty drawing room, "that if I ever get a crazy idea like that again, you'll tie me up and lock me in the cellar before I can do any real damage."

"Probably wasn't such a good idea to drag my trunk along with us," Harry agreed.

"Probably wasn't a good idea to go shopping, either," Sirius said. "I should get married, then my wife could do the shopping for us. Women like that sort of thing, right?"

"Guess so," replied Harry. "Dara and Hermione don't, though."

"Bugger … Are you hungry?"

"A bit."

"Good. Go make dinner."

Silence.

"Kidding. I'll make the food."

"Can you cook?"

"No."

Silence.

"Is there food? I can make dinner."

"No, don't do that. We'll firecall Remus."

"Professor Lupin?"

"One and the same. Only I think he'd prefer if you called him Remus now that school's out."

"But he's my teacher!"

"So?"

"So … he can't cook us dinner."

"Don't be silly. I'll go firecall him."

Silence.

"Well?"

"I'm too tired."

"I'll do it, then."

"No, I'm the adult, I'll do it."

Silence.

"So go already."

"I'm working up the strength."

In the end, Sirius managed to drag himself across the floor and firecall Remus. The former professor stepped through the fireplace without even so much as an eye roll.

"Hello, Harry," he said, bypassing his friend who appeared to have passed out and addressing the boy who had taken over the entire couch in Sirius's absence. "Busy day?"

"Incredibly."

"Did you find everything you were looking for at the shops?"

"Well, there _is _a whole house to furnish," Harry replied, sitting up a little. "We got a couple mattresses and pillows, and Sirius bought us World Cup tickets. Top box!"

"Always the thinker, Sirius, aren't you?" Remus said sarcastically. "Buying Quidditch tickets before buying bath towels. And here I was, thinking you'd never grow up."

"Shut up, Remus," came the muffled reply. "I looked after myself for nearly _four _years before Azkaban."

"Yes, and as I recall, you spent _most _of those four years over at James's place."

Sirius groaned a bit. "I'm dead tired, the least you can do is cook us dinner."

"Is it really? Well, then, I'd better get cracking, haven't I? Come and help me, Harry?"

"Sure-"

"No he won't," Sirius retorted from his position on the floor. "He's not to lift a _finger_, you understand?"

"Oh, sweet Merlin, Sirius, look at that! The boy's _breathing_ on his own! That's much too strenuous, wouldn't you agree?"

"Why don't you go-"

"I don't mind helping," Harry quickly interrupted. "I think cooking's kind of fun. It's sort of like Potions, only the results are safe to eat."

"And there's no Snape," Remus added.

"Exactly."

"There, you see –" Remus broke off as the fire in the fireplace turned violet. "Incoming firecall." He moved towards the fireplace and read the name that had been scrawled onto a bronze plate that was tacked to the bricks.

"There's a firecall from a certain 'Weasley', shall I tell him you're unavailable at the moment?"

"Ron!" Harry cried, jumping off the sofa at once and hurrying over to the fireplace. "What do I do to take his call?"

"Move that switch over to 'Open', Remus instructed as he moved to the doorway. "That opens the flue."

Harry did so, and Ron's head soon appeared in the vivid violet flames.

"That was weird," he said. "I've never had to wait to be let in before."

"It's a safety precaution," Sirius said from the floor. "Not many wizards use it, but my mum insisted on having it installed."

"It's not completely foolproof," said Remus, "but this way, you can monitor practically everyone who firecalls."

"What do you mean, it's not foolproof?" Harry asked.

"Well, someone could break into my house," Ron said sensibly, "and they could firecall and you'd let them in because you'd think it was me."

"Well spotted, Ron. We'll have to start password-protecting the fireplaces."

"Why?" asked Sirius. "My parents put enough spells and enchantments on the place to last several lifetimes."

Remus laughed. "We'll talk, Sirius. Come and help me with dinner."

Sirius whimpered, but allowed himself to be pulled up and led downstairs to the kitchen basement. "What was all that about?" he asked as Remus handed him a knife and a carrot.

"You _do_ know why Harry was left with the Dursleys, don't you?"

"Because I screwed up?" Sirius muttered sullenly.

Remus shook his head. "Dumbledore made up his mind _before_ you confronted Peter, remember?"

"Oh. Why, then?"

"Blood protection. Paddy, there's still Death Eaters at large, ones who managed to slip through our grasp! They'd stop at nothing to kill Harry and bring Voldemort back to power."

"And password-protecting the fireplaces is going to help?" he asked, puzzled as to how such a trivial measure could protect Harry.

"Of course." Remus filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. "Among other courses of action. Such as the blood protection."

"Will he be all right," Sirius asked, his face darkening, "without his aunt? If Dumbledore's sacrificed his safety for his happiness –"

"I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't do anything to put Harry in danger," Remus replied. "Now cut those carrots, and mind you don't make the pieces too big."

"Harry's right," Sirius mumbled. "It's Potions all over again."

* * *

Harry was finding it hard to talk to his friend – a very rare occurrence. Although perhaps not so rare, as he'd never spoken to Ron through a fire before.

Ron hesitantly searched around for something to say. "… Dad says he's probably got tickets to the Cup! Office connections, you know. You want to come with us?"

"Er," Harry began hesitantly. "Sirius got us tickets today."

"Oh," Ron said. "Well, that's okay. I'll see you there, then."

"Yeah," Harry said. "So … anything new happen in the last … four hours?"

"Mum drove everyone up a wall, fretting the whole way home. But that's it."

"What about?" Harry asked.

Ron's head frowned, and then he raised his eyebrows unconcernedly. "I dunno.

Harry smiled. "Right. Well … I'll write you soon."

"Okay. Bye." Harry realized a moment too late that he could simply firecall Ron anytime he wanted. But he didn't say anything; owl post was the only way he was used to communicating and it felt … wrong to talk to Ron any other way, especially when Hermione and Dara weren't connected to the Floo Network.

And Ron's head disappeared from the flickering flames.

* * *

Dinner actually wasn't as bad as Harry's expected. He asked where Remus had learned to cook like that.

"I worked as a short order cook at The Leaky Cauldron a couple years back," he explained. "I was there when Hagrid brought you in that first time."

"Why didn't you come out of the kitchen?" Harry asked. "I would have liked to meet you."

"I _did _come out," he said. "But everyone else was crowding around. I couldn't even get close enough to see you."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I'd rather have met you than Doris Crockford and Dedalus Diggle …"

"Diggle's a good fellow," said Sirius, "though none too bright, from what I remember."

"No," Remus agreed, "he's not."

"Yeah, he was always botching Order jobs during The War …"

"What war?" Harry asked curiously.

"When Voldemort came to power," Remus explained, assuming the 'teacher' role once again. "That was called The War. The whole time he was in power – what was it? '69 – '81?"

"'70 – '81," Sirius supplied.

"Right," Remus continued. "That was called The War."

"Oh," Harry said, running his finger along the edge of his plate. "I mean, I knew there was fighting, but I didn't realize it was a real war."

"Oh, it was a real war, all right," Sirius said darkly, setting down his goblet with a heavy clunk. "We had some pretty impressive battles."

"Were either of you ever hurt?"

"I got injured a fair few times," said Sirius. "Not Moony here, though."

Remus grimaced. "Voldemort had a nasty habit of doing battle on the full moons. There were many Death Eaters like me, and he felt he could … use them to greater advantage if they were in wolf form."

Harry stared at his former teacher in shock. "But … but that's horrible!"

"Voldemort used a lot of …" Remus shuddered, "_Dark Creatures_ to his advantage.

"Did they … bite anyone?"

"They bit a lot of people, Harry," said Sirius. "Some were Death Eaters, but most of them were from our side."

"And then Voldemort would convince them that the Order didn't want them anymore. That _he _was the only one who supported them now."

"And they went over?"

"Some of them did," Remus said. Then he pushed his chair back and stood up. "Come, now. You don't want to think about that tonight. Why doesn't Harry help me clear the table, and then I'll bring out dessert."

"You made dessert too?" Harry said, gathering up his plate.

"Harry," Sirius warned in a mock-adult voice. "What have I said about cleaning?"

"Er…"

"You're not to do any of it," he said, rising to his feet and lifting the plate from Harry's hands. "Remus and I, old as we may be, are perfectly capable of cleaning a table on our own."

With that, Sirius turned right around and promptly tripped chair,anddropped the china plate he held as he and the chair fell to the ground with a loud THUMP.

Remus chuckled softly as he picked up utensils and made to drop them in the sink.

Harry grinned and slid onto the floor next to his godfather's head. "Capable, are you? I'm up one point!"

* * *

Sirius neglected to mention that _he_ had embarrassed himself; Harry hadn't done the embarrassing.

* * *

Remus declined Sirius's offer to spend the night. Godfather and Godson were so exhausted that by eight thirty, both had decided to turn in.

"Which bedroom do you want?" Sirius asked, leading Harry up to the second floor.

"There's five of them on this floor, and four on the third and fourth floors."

"Which one are you taking?" asked Harry.

"I'll take my old one, I guess," Sirius said, pointing to the bedroom nearest the bathroom.

Harry crossed the landing and peered into the room next door to Sirius's room. It was bare at the moment, but Sirius would see it got spruced up. And _it was right next to Sirius_.

"I guess this one looks all right," he said, looking up hopefully at his godfather. "Can I have it?"

Merlin, that had sounded like Dudley! _How selfish can you get_? Harry demanded of himself.

"Or … anywhere's fine with me," he quickly amended. "I'd just as soon sleep on the couch downstairs."

Sirius shook his head disbelievingly. "Merlin, Harry, there's thirteen bedrooms in this place – you didn't think you'd have to sleep on the couch, did you?"

Harry shrugged.

"Course you can take that room," he said. "Now, go brush your teeth or wash behind your ears or eat your spinach or whatever it is I'm supposed to tell you, and go to bed."

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"The mattresses are downstairs."

Oh. Right. "Well, there's no way _I'm_ moving them up here tonight, I'm beat."

"Can't you use magic?"

"Don't have a wand," Sirius explained. "Thought we'd go out to Diagon Alley tomorrow and buy one."

"So …" Harry said uncertainly. "What do we do about tonight?"

Tonight. Er … "Guess we're sleeping downstairs tonight," he said, grinning. "Like a campout. We can make stores –"

"- smores."

"Yeah, that, and do whatever it is muggles do when they camp out," he finished. "So tell me, what _do_ muggles do on campouts?"

"How would I know?" he said. "I've never gone."

"Even better!" Sirius exclaimed. "Tonight seems to be the First Night!"

"Huh?"

"First night at the Manor, first time camping …" he elaborated. "Come on, grab a blanket from the closet over there. Last one to the sitting room's got to wash the dishes tomorrow."

Harry pulled two blankets out of the closet Sirius had pointed out. "But you said –"

"GO!"

Taken by surprise, Harry only came to his senses when Sirius was already halfway down the stairs. He took off after his godfather, and the two of them tore up the first floor hallway and collapsed onto their respective mattresses.

"Who won?" Harry asked, gasping for breath.

"Tie," said Sirius, though he knew he had beaten the boy by several seconds. "And I hereby declare that all ties shall be settled by yours truly. I'll do the dishes. But," he continued, "_you_ have to eat everything on your plate."

"Wha-"

"Oh, come on, I saw the way you picked at your food tonight," Sirius reprimanded lightly. "That's the deal."

"All right, all right."

"Good," said Sirius.

Harry dug through his trunk and pulled out a pair of pajamas. He left the room, presumably to change in the bathroom next door.

Sirius turned down the kerosene lamp, then sank down onto his mattress, a grin slowly spreading over his face. Having Harry living with his was turning out to be everything he had dreamed of all those years in Azkaban.

Well, okay, the Harry in his daydreams was a bit looser, a bit quicker to crack a joke.

_He's just nervous_, Sirius reassured himself. _Who wouldn't be_?

Harry returned a minute later, dressed in an extra large sweatshirt and an old, faded pair of striped pajama pants. He dropped onto his own mattress and pulled the blanket up.

"'Night, Sirius."

"'Night, Harry." He could feel the next welling up in his mouth, could hear them tumbling off his tongue ……………… "Love you."

There was silence for a moment, then –

"You too."

Sirius grin grew wider as he lay back. Yes, this was going to be perfect.

* * *

Harry snuggled deeper into his blanket. It smelled musty and made his nose twitch, but he couldn't remember ever feeling happier – not even on his first night at Hogwarts.

He'd been scared then too. Terrified. Ever since Dara'd moved in with the Dursleys, she'd always slept relatively near him –right down the hall from his cupboard, and later on, they'd been delighted to find out that Harry's bedroom was right above the laundry room where Dara slept. They'd spent three weeks learning Morse Code out of school library books and had had a great time driving the Dursleys crazy by tapping messages to one another.

Their first night at Hogwarts, after the Welcome Feast, they'd shared a moment of panic as they'd been directed up separate staircases. Harry's four poster was the softest bed he'd ever slept in his whole life, but he'd still been terrified.

Thinking of Dara reminded him of the piece of paper she'd shoved in his arms earlier that day.

Harry rolled out of "bed", careful not to disturb Sirius, and crept across the room to where his trunk stood. He lifted the lid and found the paper right away.

Harry crawled over to the fireplace, where the last few embers were still clinging to life. He unfolded the paper and glanced at it in the dull light.

Unwanted tears blurred his vision as he remembered what he'd told Dara just yesterday. _I'd always wanted to turn Dudley's hair green … Will you do it for me?_

And then he saw the drawing Dara had done for him – a comical drawing done in colored pencil, her preferred instrument, of Dudley Dursley gaping wide-eyed into the hall mirror, his hair a hideous bright green.

* * *

A/N: In case anyone's wondering about the color of the flames, I decided that it seems more organized if outgoing fireplace businessmade the fire turn green, while _incoming_ business made it turn purple. It just seemed more organized that way.


	4. Nighttime Contemplations or In Which Muc

Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter universe belongs to me.

A/N: I'm SO sorry for taking so long to put this up (not like anyone actually reads it anyway, but let's all pretend for a moment like someone does). It was ready to go on Memorial Day, but the site was messed up then, and with finals and everything I've been putting it off! I have the next two chapters written and as soon as finals are over, my beta and I will get things done a lot quicker. I would also like to see about putting illustrations online, whether through the FA upload or photobucket or something. If anyone has any suggestions ...

Once again, a huge thanks to my wonderful beta, The Sanity Master.

Chapter 4: Nighttime Contemplation or In Which Much is Thought Out And Nothing Gets Done

It had been a week since she'd returned home from Hogwarts, and Dara was more than ready to leave.

Things usually stayed the same at Privet Drive from year to year. While that didn't mean Dara _liked_ being there, of course, she had to admit that it was nice for her year to have some routine to it: ten months at Hogwarts, one at Privet Drive, and one at the Burrow.

Last year, the balance had been upset somewhat, as she and Harry had spent the last three weeks of holiday at The Leaky Cauldron, but all in all, it wasn't too off the mark.

But this year, the balance was completely thrown off. Harry no longer lived with the Dursleys. This was the hardest fact, and had yet to completely sink in; Dara had taken to repeating it to herself over and over before she went to sleep at night, just to remind herself that it was really true.

She had had several weeks of adjusting to the thought of Harry having a godfather. And although she had _known_ things were bound to change, deep down, a horrible part of her had been hoping Sirius would change his mind. That Harry would once again be banished back to The Land of Boredom with her …

Mrs. Stamphard was coming by at ten o'clock tomorrow. _Oh joy_, Dara thought as she lay under the covers, watching a twinkling star through the grimy basement window high above her. Mrs. Stamphard was a fat, foul-smelling woman who gave simpering smiles and exclaimed "the poor dear" all too often. She was also, fortunately, the woman Dara had to convince she was happy if she wanted to come back next summer.

_Wait … Since when have I ever wanted to come back here_?

Shaking the thought off, Dara grinned a little in the darkness. Mrs. Stamphard was easy. All she had to do was lay on the sob stuff – "My daddy doesn't like me and Mr. Dursley's like my real dad!" – and lose her dignity for a while. Nothing too difficult.

* * *

"Poor dear." 

Dara could tell Mrs. Stamphard had _tried_ to whisper, but she managed to hear her anyway.

"Good morning, Mrs. Stamphard."

The large woman turned from the mantle, where she'd been examining the picture that hung above it. The large family portrait had been taken several summers ago to impress the Masons that time Mr. Dursley had almost signed a deal with them.

While Harry had been kept upstairs throughout the meal that time, Dara had been told to help Mrs. Dursley serve dinner. She had been introduced as a girl from up the street, trying to earn her way to college by helping out at the Dursley household on weekends and school holidays.

"How charitable of you," Mrs. Mason had remarked.

As Dara had only been twelve at the time, she had thought that the most absurd lie in the world.

In any case, the portrait had been taken without Harry or Dara in it. Which was simply unacceptable for Mrs. Stamphard to see. That was why two individual school photos, taken when they had been ten years old, were propped up underneath the portrait for her visit. Which were what Mrs. Stamphard had been looking at before Dara came in.

Dara made her way to the couch, taking care to walk like a timid seven-year-old instead of someone twice that age. Then, without preamble, she blurted out, "I get to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, right? They're the best!"

* * *

Not for the first time, Emmaline Stamphard wondered whether the Kentler girl was being forced or subdued into pledging her allegiance to the Dursley family. As the girl perched precariously on the edge of the couch, Mrs. Stamphard shook the ridiculous idea out of her head. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had never been anything but courteous towards her, and they didn't have any addictions or anything that suggested they were less than exemplary citizens. No, she was forced to conclude that Dara Kentler truly loved her foster parents.

And the trouble was, the boat of stability Dara seemed to have found was in danger of being rocked.

* * *

"Now, Dara, I understand that Harry recently went to live somewhere else."

"Yeah," Dara said shortly. The tears welling up in her eyes were genuine – all she had to do was let them fall.

But they wouldn't.

"And how do you feel about that?"

She restrained herself from rolling her wet eyes with great difficulty. "I miss him. But –" her mouth had started forming _Mrs. Dursley_, but she'd stopped herself in time "– Pet said she'd take me to see him next week, and we're getting together on his birthday, too."

_Mrs. Dursley_ had, of course, said nothing of the sort.

"So you're happy here, then?"

"Oh, yes," Dara quickly said, making her now-dry eyes grow very wide and nodding her head. Mrs. Stamphard smiled. "All right, dear, don't look so nervous! Now, why don't you tell Vernon and Petunia they can come in?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Stamphard." Dara left the room quickly, still walking like a seven-year-old, but waited, hidden, by the wall next to the doorpost.

"_The poor dear _…"

Dara grinned, her mission complete; she went off to fetch Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.

* * *

Dara lay on her cot in the laundry room that night, half-buried under a blanket, and listened to the gentle thumping of the washing machine. She was so used to the noise of the machines that she found it hard to fall asleep for the first few nights she spent at the Burrow each summer. Dara'd tried to persuade Mr. and Mrs. Dursley into giving her Harry's room, but to no avail. It had become "Dudley's second playroom" once more.

At the moment, Dara was flipping through a storybook she and Harry had made. Or, more precisely, a storybook they _were_ making.

_Elfland_, she read fondly.

Dara's mother had encouraged her daughter's drawing. Dara had been appalled to learn – the _hard_ way – that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley disapproved of imagination. Their disapproval had, in her opinion, left Dudley and Harry utterly boring, _dull_ people.

So she and Harry had struck up a compromise.

She'd first introduced Harry to Elfland over lunch at school one day. Elfland was a magical place she and her mother had invented, though she didn't tell him that.

"Lots of creatures live there," she'd said, "elves, of course, but tons of others too!"

"Like what?" Harry'd wanted to know.

"Like …" Like fauns and dwarves … and talking beavers like in 'Narnia'. "And the creatures live like real people – they have birthday parties and wars and things too!"

It had taken a bit more explaining and a lot of coaxing – "Oh, don't worry, they won't find out," Dara'd replied to Harry's fear that his aunt and uncle would discover their operation – but eventually, Harry had agreed to the deal. They would discuss the plot for a new story over lunch – out of Dudley's earshot, of course. Later that night, under the guise of "doing his homework", Harry would begin work on the text. In the meantime, Dara would start several illustrations for the story.

She smiled now, as she flipped through nearly two hundred pages of writing and drawings, arranged by date of completion, about the tales of the creatures of Elfland.

There were distinct changes in their writing and drawing styles. Harry's writing had started out very simple – creative, but nothing especially unique about it. He'd stuck mainly with the characters Dara had imagined. As time had worn on, and especially since starting Hogwarts, he'd made variations of his own on the plots they created together, added in more description, and made up new characters of his own.

As for Dara, her drawing had certainly become less childish over the years. Though this happened to practically everyone, it was still interesting to note exactly when she'd started drawing eyes, for example, in detail and not just crayon dots. Dara actually _liked_ her style now.

_Except hands_, she thought, as she looked at a picture of a giant whose hands consisted of two large circles and ten sticks, each oddly spaced. _I still can't draw hands_.

Most of the thirty-five stories had been written when they were nine and ten, though approximately seven had been written at school. Dara read through the last one now, which had been written nearly three months ago.

She smiled as she closed the book, though it was more a sad, trying-to-cheer-myself-up (-and-failing-miserably) smile than a happy or nostalgic one.

School had been out of session for one week. _One week_. She hadn't received any letters at all in that time, and she couldn't send letters to anyone until either Harry or Ron wrote to her first. Dara supposed she could – hypothetically, of course – send Hermione letters by the muggle post, but then there was the matter of stamps – she doubted Mrs. Dursley would let her have one.

Or would she? Maybe she could tell Mrs. Dursley that Sirius was a muggleborn and not comfortable with owl post, while secretly addressing the letter to Hermione and not him.

_Yeah_, she told herself in a horribly sarcastic tone, _and while I'm at it, I'll tell her that my dad called last week_.

Bill Kentler hadn't spoken to his daughter since the summer after she'd started at Hogwarts.

"_Family" is over-rated_, she thought, carefully keeping her face blank of any emotion as she stored _Elfland _safely in a box from Harrods under the cot. After all, you couldn't choose your family. Sometimes people just grabbed the sort straw, so to speak. What you _could_ choose were your friends.

_So your friends are a close representation of who you really are_, Dara decided. _Not your family_.

_This is stupid_, she thought with a glance at her watch. _It's much too late at night to be philosophical_.

Dara liked her watch. It was a wizard watch, with twelve hands and planets dancing around the edges and everything! Ron and Hermione had helped her pick it out on the first Hogsmeade trip that year and taught her how to use it.

She'd felt so horrible leaving Harry alone on Halloween that year. Halloween was always a hard time for him, and she'd planned on spending the day together, possibly doing some homework if he didn't feel like talking, or pondering about the past if he did. But then the Hogsmeade trip had come up …

Dara could _still_ see the look on Mr. Dursley's face when she'd shoved the permission slip at him.

In front of the entire Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, that is.

Dara reached up and pulled on the cord that turned the light bulb on and off, grinning broadly. Last summer, the squad had shown up about half an hour after Harry had blown up Ms. Dursley and run away … While the rest of the squad deflated Ms. Dursley, an aspiring Auror called "Kingsley" had grilled her, interrogating her as to where Harry might be headed. She'd responded truthfully – "No idea, sir" – and they'd spent some time talking.

The squad had staked out at Privet Drive all night – much to Mrs. Dursley's dismay – while they waited for word from the Ministry saying Harry was all right. When they were finally informed that he had arrived at The Leaky Cauldron and would be staying there for the rest of the summer, Dara'd spent a good thirty seconds dreading the thought of living with the Dursleys on her own for three more weeks.

_I should've guessed it would have been kinda like this_, she thought sulkily.

Anyway, Kingsley must have seen the look on her face, because he immediately asked her if she wanted to join Harry there. She'd agreed at once, of course, and had hurried off to the laundry room to pack. Sifting quickly through her belongings, she'd come across the unsigned Hogsmeade permission form.

The look on Mr. Dursley's face when she'd asked him to sign the form in front of half the department had been absolutely priceless!

Later on in the year, when it became apparent that Harry wouldn't be allowed to visit Hogsmeade without his form, Dara'd tried to convince McGonagall that Mr. Dursley had intended his signature for both of them, pointing out that Harry had left too quickly to get his signed.

She hadn't been impressed.

_At least Sirius can sign his form now_, she thought, effectively dragging herself out of the past. Dara laid an arm under her head and ran a finger up her scalp.

Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was that her hair was getting oily and she should wash it in the morning …

* * *

Harry still couldn't believe that this room was really _his_.

At the moment, he was lying on his bed in the darkened room. Harry was especially proud of his bed. He and Sirius had gone shopping for a bed frame three days ago. Harry would have been more than happy with any bed frame, provided it was a bit less prehistoric than his old one, but Sirius had insisted that he choose an extraordinary frame.

"Come on," he'd goaded. "You have a plain bed the rest of the year. I want you to pick out something out of the ordinary just this once!"

And then he'd made he'd made a puppy dog face.

How can you refuse the puppy dog face?

So Harry'd complied, choosing a large, circular bed frame from a furniture store on Diagon Alley. Which meant they'd had to buy a new, circular mattress and sheets to fit it. He'd chosen a sheet with a simple, dark blue design; Sirius had also bought a sheet that looked like a pizza pie. That was the sheet Harry was currently lying on.

Sirius had also bought himself a new wand at Ollivanders: Holly and sphinx tail hair, twelve and a half inches.

They'd actually had a pretty decent time shopping for furniture once Sirius had learned to spread the trips out over the course of several days and bring Remus along to help him "set reasonable goals" (read: restrain him from buying every single product that said "Quidditch" on it).

"Honestly," Remus had muttered amusedly. "Give a teenager a couple thousand galleons and an entire house to furnish and take a look at the results!"

Remus had also suggested a trip to Flourish and Blotts, at which Sirius had promptly pretended to vomit into the nearest trash bin.

But Harry had allowed himself to be led into the bookstore, and now in addition to the most common fourth year texts, he now owned some of Ron's favorite comics (which he found a bit dull and largely overdone, to tell the truth), several O.W.L. preparation book (Remus's suggestion), and the book he'd admired years ago – Curses and Counter-curses (Sirius's suggestion). Remus had wanted him to read some muggle classics as well, but Sirius had drawn the line at that.

As he'd so eloquently put it, "What's he ever going to do with _that_ rubbish?"

Both Sirius and Remus wanted to buy Harry new sets of robes and muggle outfits, but he'd declined their offers …

While Aunt Petunia had never tried to make _Dara_ wear Dudley's old castoffs, she certainly hadn't gone out of her way to find her things to wear either. When Dara'd outgrown the clothing she'd arrived with – around her tenth birthday – Aunt Petunia had taken her down to The Bargain Bin, given her ten pounds, and driven off to do the grocery shopping. She'd done the same last summer.

So now Dara had a steady supply of jeans and plaid, button-down shirts, which had been the cheapest articles of clothing at the bargain store and were not particularly fashionable in either the muggle or wizarding worlds. Although they were, at least, in her size, which was more than Harry could say for his own clothes. All in all, Dara generally managed to look put-together. Though Mrs. Weasley had started to wonder at the uniformity of her outfits. Sometimes, when Dara felt like scaring passersby, she'd plait her hair into two short, blonde braids to complete the farm girl look.

Sirius's rules about clothing were as different from Aunt Petunia's as Gryffindor was different from Slytherin. It was all right to show up to breakfast in pajamas, fine to spend the whole day in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and considered perfectly normal to go about topless if it got too hot, as long as there were no women around.

And, in Remus's words: "What's the likeliness of _that_ happening?"

Ever.

The score was now five to two, Sirius's favor. Harry wasn't stupid, he knew that Sirius had practically given him those two points; he was determined to gain at least one point on his own before this summer was over.

The trouble was, Sirius rarely provided any opportunities for anyone to embarrass him. Or maybe Harry just wasn't trying hard enough. Practically _anything_ could be turned into something embarrassing if he just looked a bit harder …

He needed Ron here. Ron could always think of funny things to say. Or the twins. _Wonder if Sirius told them about being Padfoot_, Harry thought, images of the stocky red-haired twins floating into his mind. _They'd be over here in a second if they knew I lived with a Marauder_.

_If they'd known the password to get through the chimney, that is_, Harry thought with a grin. Unable to act adult for more than thirty seconds at a time, Sirius had charmed the fireplaces to only recognize the password "Snape eats his bogies".

While Dara and Hermione were fun, Ron was a bit less down-to-earth than either of them. Both girls insisted on studying so they could do well in the "future", which was far-off and obscure. Ron was, well, _normal_. He liked Quidditch and getting a rise out of Malfoy – and NOT studying in any way, shape, or form. Harry felt bad that he would not be going to the World Cup with the Weasleys, but he would surely see them there, wouldn't he?

His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that today was the day of Mrs. Stamphard's visit …

A/N #2: Next chapter Dara finally gets persuaded to come to Black Manor. Really.


	5. New Roommates or In Which This Story Get

A/N: If anyone's actually reading this, I'm terribly sorry for the long wait. I can't really explain it, it's just me being my lazy self. Hard to believe that last summer I would sometimes update the same story two, three times a day!

Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter world belongs to me.

* * *

Chapter 5: New Roommates or In Which the Story Gets Interesting

"I can't believe you only just realized you forgot your – what was it again?" Sirius grumbled as he, Harry, and Remus made their way down Privet Drive, which was wet and dewy from last night's rainfall. It was still early, only seven thirty, and the sky was already a brilliant blue. "Oh _that's _right – you haven't even bothered to tell me what you left behind!"

"Just a bunch of stuff under a loose floorboard."

"It took you a whole week to figure out?"

"That's enough," Remus admonished his friend. Then he turned to Harry: "We're going to go in for a second and then come right back out, understand, Harry?"

"Why?"

"I thought you didn't want to see you aunt and uncle again," said Sirius.

"I don't," Harry quickly replied. "But I thought –"

"In and out would probably be best," Remus interjected. "We don't want to get your relatives angry."

"_All right_," Harry agreed with a sigh, "In and out."

They came to a stop in front of the door and Remus rang the bell.

"Hey, how'd you know to do that?" Harry asked. "Wizards don't have doorbells, do they?"

"My mother was a muggle," Remus explained. "We had a TV and a telephone and everything."

"Really?"

The door swung open just then. Harry raised his eyebrows as Aunt Petunia paled visably.

_Ha!_ he thought.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Sirius cut in. "Good _morning_, Petunia!" he exclaimed. "May I call you Petunia?"

"No," she replied stiffly.

"Well, can I call you Pet? Tuna? Tuna-face?"

Aunt Petunia just stared back, dumbstruck.

"What a _fine_ dress you've got on," Sirius continued. "It makes you appear _so_ much skinnier than you probably are-"

Harry groaned inwardly. Thankfully, Remus swiftly manuvered himself in front of Sirius as Aunt Petunia blushed angrily, giving his friend a sharp pinch on the arm as he did so.

"Harry appears to have left some of his things behind," he said. "Do you suppose we might come in to collect them?"

Aunt Petunia glanced nervously behind her. "I suppose so."

She stepped aside and Sirius, Remus, and Harry filed into the house, Sirius rubbing his arm.

"Why don't you run upstairs?" Remus said to Harry. "We'll be waiting right down here when you're through.

* * *

As Harry hurried up the stairs, Petunia Dursley disappeared into a back room without another word.

Sirius shared an incredulous look with Remus as he surveyed the house where his godson had grown up. "I don't like this place. It's too … bright. And clean."

"I know."

"What kind of house is this? It's like a museum."

"I know."

"It's creeping me out."

"I _know_."

"I wish he'd come down soon."

"Me too."

At that moment, Harry came bounding down the stairs, his hair flopping, and looking generally wild and slightly insane.

Before either of them had time to ask what had happened, Harry had darted past them and flung open the door of a small coat closet with such force that the door bounced off the wall.

Not satisfied, Harry hurtled himself into the same room his aunt had gone into. After a moment of shock, the two men rushed after him into a horridly decorated kitchen.

"_Where is she_?" Harry was hissing at his aunt and uncle. Another boy, obviously Dudley, from Harry's description of him, was cowering in a corner.

Petunia looked over Harry's shoulder at them. "What are you on about?" Vernon snapped. "Boy's a raging lunatic!"

Several cracks he could make to Remus about Vernon's choice of words – "_No, lunatic would be Remus_" – flew into Sirius' head, but a glance at the others told him this was definitely _not_ an appropriate time.

Darn. He'd have to remember to say them later, then.

But Sirius understood what Harry was on about, and apparently, so did Remus.

"You didn't really leave anything behind, did you?" Remus said, though it wasn't a question, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, shrugging it off. "I said she could take my room. "Why's the bed stripped?"

The Dursleys seemed lost for words.

"If you've done … _anything_ … I swear, I'll –"

"Harry?"

He whirled around, struck dumb by the introduction of the new voice.

Dara stood in the doorway behind them, wearing a red plaid shirt and a pair of jeans. She had frozen in the middle of plaiting her wet hair into two braids upon seeing Harry by the kitchen table.

"Hi, Sirius, hi, Professor," she said in a voice full of question. Then, turning back to Harry, she said, "What are you doing here?" – sounding horribly like Petunia had.

Harry answered, his eyes trained on the floor, "Stamphard came yesterday."

"So?"

"Well ... you know."

"No, I don't know," she retorted. "Tell me. Spell it out for me."

"You said the only reason you –"

"I know what I said."

"Didn't you just say…? I thought you'd –"

"Well, you thought wrong, then!"

Sirius, Remus, Petunia, and Vernon stared at each other, completely unable to understand a word.

"I just don't get why you'd rather-"

"Can we _not_ talk about this here?"

"-rather wait until things get so –"

"I _said_, can we –"

"- so bad that you need –"

"Harry, please!"

"Can't I even finish a sentence?

"Look, whatever you're doing here, you can leave, okay?" Dara snapped, her hands on her hips, looking the very picture of a mother hen. "I'm fine, I'm not going anywhere."

"What happened to you? What happened to all those plans –"

"I was little, I was stupid. I'm more mature now!"

"Yeah, like _this_ is mature."

He said this quietly, but the effect of that sentence on Dara was immediate. She feel silent, then grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him through a side door without another word. The door slammed shut behind them, but everyone in the kitchen could hear muffled shouts coming from the other room anyway.

The Dursleys slowly returned to their breakfast, ignoring the two wizards as best they could. After uncomfortably holding up the wall for several minutes, Sirius and Remus shifted into the living room.

"What in the world …?"

"I don't know, Paddy," Remus replied.

"I think he wants her to come home with us," Sirius said, the idea just dawning on him.

"Took you long enough," Remus remarked.

"I wouldn't say no."

"That's good," Remus said, "because I don't think he'd take no for an answer."

Sirius didn't respond. He was staring around the room at the various muggle electronics that the Dursleys owned. "What _are_ all these things?" he asked.

"Well, that's a television over there," Remus explained, "kind of like … a portrait, only it tells stories instead of just talking. And that's a VCR – it shows you movies so you can watch them whenever you want. And a video camera, that makes movies. And … is that a Playstation?"

"A what?" Sirius bent closer to examine the strange box on the floor.

"It's … well, it's a computer you can play games on," explained Remus, grabbing his friend's arm and pulling him to his feet. "I've only ever read about them before, they've just come out last month …"

"So the muggles are filthy rich?"

"Suppose so."

"And is it in style to wear baggy clothes?"

"No," said Remus, still staring in awe at the Playstation.

"So why does Harry, then?"

"No idea."

Afraid to take a seat on the white leather couches, Sirius and Remus stood awkwardly around the edge of the living room and settled in to wait.

* * *

They were no longer yelling, which was definitely a good thing.

"But why don't you want to come?" Harry asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

"I just don't," Dara replied. They were in her room, Harry was sitting on her bed, and she had climbed up on top of the washing machine. "I _do _have reasons for wanting to stay here, you know."

"Want to share?"

"Well," she said, "for one, I don't think I'm techinically allowed to leave. You know – legally."

"What about Hogwarts, then?" Harry asked.

"They don't … exactly … know about that," said Dara, drawing her legs up underneath her.

"There you go!" Harry said. "You don't have to tell the government about this either."

"But – my dad wouldn't know where I was."

Lame, yes, she knew.

"I thought you didn't want to live with him anyway," Harry replied, a bit insensitively. Some of 'Ron' seemed to be rubbing off on him.

"I … don't."

"So what's the problem?"

Dara pressed her forehead to her knees in frustration and let her wet braids dangle down the sides of her head.

She didn't want to leave the Dursleys, the place where she and Harry were equal. The kids no one wanted. Everything would change the second they left the Dursleys household.

_I don't _want _to not be wanted_, she thought savagely. _Pathetic, Kentler, I know, but it's _true

And besides, it was one thing to be rejected by Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, who had resolved long ago to never approve of any other child except Dudley, or even her father, who … well, okay, he had no excuse, but she had long since learned to live with that. But to be rejected by Sirius…?

"What if it doesn't work out?"

"What's not to work out?" Harry asked. "Hey, where'd you put It?"

No need to ask what It was. "It's under the bed."

She heard Harry pull out the Harrods box and take out the book they were making together. "You haven't had any new ideas yet, have you?"

"I've had a bit on my mind," she said sarcastically, looking up at last.

"This was always my favorite," Harry said, flipping open to one story that had been written when they were ten. "I really like the way you drew Bluffy."

Dara looked over at the upside-down picture of Bluffy, the flying bear. "Stop it, Harry."

"What?"

"Just stop doing that, all right? Stop acting like everything's normal." She sighed again. "I can't believe Sirius is okay with this. He's letting me choose who to stay with? That never happens in muggle courts."

* * *

Harry bit the inside of his lip. He wasn't sure why he'd dragged Sirius out here without telling him what they were doing. He'd never even talked to Sirius about Dara moving in. But if a few simple lies were enough to change Dara's mind, it was all worth it, right? Sirius shouldn't be too hard to convince, right?

Harry's insides squirmed. Lying? That was awfully Slytherin. And he was _not _a Slytherin, they'd already established that last year. And besides, he was lying for a good reason.

So the ends justify the means?

The world got so much more confusing as you got older.

"Yeah, Sirius is great," he said.

"Are you _trying _to make me jealous?" Dara asked, though she grinned as she said it.

"Ah, caught on, did you? So … did it work?"

Dara peered around her shoulder at him, completely serious. Are you sure you wouldn't mind sharing with me again?"

"Of course I don't," he said. "It's not … It doesn't feel like home without you."

She blushed and hid her face momentarily before swivling around to face him. "You sure?"

"Definitely."

Dara dangled her legs over the edge of the washing machine for a moment before jumping down. "Well, let's go tell them, then."

* * *

"Sirius?"

Sirius and Remus turned. Harry strode forward confidently, while Dara trailed behind him, her pale face and blonde hair giving off the impression of a ghost-like spirit. Her chin jutted up and her bottom lip stuck out a bit, but otherwise, she looked completely at ease as well. Harry's eyes seemed to sparkle … they were _so _much like Lily's … It was all he could do to hold back another "you have your mother's eyes" line …

Come to think of it, Harry had acted eerily similar to Lily that afternoon. Striding into the Dursleys' house, taking charge, demanding to know where his friend was.

Which in itself was very puzzling. Why had Harry seemed so insistant on breaking his friend out? And why all the concern _today_? And why hadn't Harry simply asked him beforehand, instead of bringing them here under false pretences?

But all that could be sorted out once they got home.

"So …" he said kindly, but not patronizingly, he hoped. "Will you be coming with us?"

Dara nodded. "I'd … really like to, sir, if it's not too much trouble."

"Ixnay the 'irsay'," Remus said with a grin. "He's anything but."

"I like that," Sirius said, putting on a noble air. "Sir Black, valiant knight, off to rescue damsels in the dead of night."

"-and be the cause of their distress," Remus said.

Seeing the bewildered look on her face, Sirius sobered. Somewhat. "We'd be delighted to have you join our humble abode, milady."

She relaxed and brightened a bit. "Thank you, sir – Sirius."

"In exchange for your services, of course," he continued. "Our castle's practically bare, and we have dire need of someone to decorate our rooms for us."

"You should see what those two have done to the place already," Remus remarked. "Dripping bath towels on the floor, scorched food a week old still sitting out on the counter … You're in for a lot more than redecorating."

Harry shook his head. "Ignore them," he told Dara. "We're really excited – your room's all ready and everything."

Dara snuck a glance wearily at the kitchen door. "That's great, but … what about Them?"

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?"

She nodded.

"That shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Sirius asked, a bit confused. "They let Harry go, didn't they?"

"Harry's not worth 28 hundred p. a year," she remarked bitterly.

Ah. A snag. "Of course not – he's priceless," Sirius replied in a would-be light tone, making Harry flush as dark as Dara's shirt. "Why don't you go pack up your things – Harry, you help her – and Remus and I can sort things out with 'Them', all right?"

"Sure," Harry said. "Come on," he urged Dara, practically pulling her along behind him.

Sirius and Remus shared a glance. "You got rid of them like a pro," complimented Remus, and then they strode into the kitchen.

Vernon was, to say the least, irate. Sirius entertained himself for a moment by watching Harry's uncle's face slowly grow redder and redder, but he knew he had to break the ice.

"You won't mind her coming with us, then?"

If Vernon Dursley was a rhinocerous, he would have charged.

"What gives you the right to barge into other peoples' homes and kidnap children from right under them?" Vernon thundered.

Sirius sighed. "Let me make this brief, Mr. Dursley. I would like to take Dara home with us. You would like your money. I'm willing to pay you whatever compensation you were getting from the government in exchange for her."

He'd expected Vernon to jump on the offer. Instead, he looked ready to jump on Sirius. "Oh no you don't!" he yelled, narrowing his eyes. "And just what am I supposed to say when that social worker comes 'round, wanting to know where she is?"

"She was abducted by aliens?"

He'd said it so he could watch the vein pop in Vernon's neck. Remus, however, was not amused; he shoved Sirius discreetly out of the way and took over. "Mr. Dursley, please realize that if Dara were discovered missing, _you_ would not only appear as negligent-" _oooh, big word_, thought Sirius – "guardians, but _we _would be viewed as kidnappers."

Sirius's insides froze. _Kidnappers_ …

"So just adopt her then, and have done with it," Vernon retorted. "But you can still give us the money!"

"But if the government believes her to be living here, you will be paid by them as well as us."

He could almost see the conclusion drawing in Vernon's mind. _Double _the money. 28 hundred from the government and 28 hundred from the wizard-freaks. And that would all be profit too, since they wouldn't have to feed her.

"Now," Remus continued. "I don't pretend to be an expert on The System, but I think I am correct in assuming that the majority of social workers give notice before dropping by, especially when the child has been in the same household for a number of years?"

"Most of the time," Petunia said stiffly from the other side of the kitchen as she poured tea for her and her husband.

"Well, it's very simple, then," Remus said, marvelling at the way she managed to keep all the tea inside the cups even though her hands were shaking. "Let us know when someone will be dropping by, and we'll bring her over. That way, everyone's happy."

Petunia's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Sure!" she said in a tone of deep mistrust. "And just how would we contact you? We haven't got one of those horrible birds!"

"I know you don't," Remus said placatingly. "But we were thinking about putting in a phone line-"

_We were_? thought Sirius. Then: _we_?

"-And they'll be installing it next week, so you can phone us with the details if we have to bring her back," Remus concluded.

Yes, it was a _wonderful_ plan. The only problem was that it was illegal. _Very_ illegal.

He felt a sense of panic rise inside him, like a great wave flushing over his entire body. He'd just been freed, he'd just found Harry, he didn't want to go – There. Azkaban. Charged with kidnapping!

"And what about the emotional turmoil this will cause Dudley?" Vernon was saying, a forced look of concern on his face. Upon hearing his name, the boy in the corner perked up a bit. "He's become quite attached to his little playmates. Perhaps you could throw in … 10 p. to take him to the cinema twice a month?"

Sirius drew his wand from his pocket and held it upside down – on purpose, of course. He hitched a look of menace onto his face. "Don't push it, Dursley!"

Remus snickered quietly as the great muggle recoiled. Sirius resisted the urge to grin. Honestly! Anyone with half a brain could see the wand was upside down, and would have done more damage to Sirius than anyone else if he'd uttered a spell.

_Maybe the whole family only has half a brain to spare_, Sirius thought, _and they have to split it three ways_.

"Ready to go, Harry? Dara?"

"Nearly," came Harry's reply from the other room. Harry. His voice was changing.

"We'll just wait in the living room, then," Remus said to Vernon.

"It's been lovely seeing you all again, simply _lovely_," Sirius said in a simpering tone. "Tuna, darling, make sure you water your begonias, they were looking a bit wilted as we came in. Ta-ta!"

"Hold on a moment," Vernon roared. "When do I get my money?"

Sirius winced. The kinds surely would have heard that – he hadn't meant them to.

"We'll send it to you once we know our new phone number," said Remus calmly. "We'll send you the number as well."

"Oh," Vernon muttered, abashed. "All right, then."

Sirius raised his wand hand – with the wand still in it – in farewell, then dragged Remus into the living room.

"First of all, he snapped furiously, "What telephone? And – who's 'we'?"

Remus looked embarrassed. "Well, I was hoping I could take you up on that offer to move in."

Fury aside, Sirius smiled broadly for moment. "That's incredible! Why all of a sudden, though?" he asked suspiciously.

Remus's eyes dropped to his feet. "The – the couple in the flat below mine say their son's been terrified to sleep the past three nights. He heard me."

Sirius was horrified. "And the landlord –"

"Gave me two weeks' notice," Remus continued. "I thought, well, since I have someplace to go this time, I'd rather be out sooner than later."

"I'm sorry you lost it," Sirius said. Remus had only had the place three weeks, ever since he quit the Defense position. "But it's going to be fantastic having you with us!"

Remus smiled. "In-house cook, eh?"

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of 'In-house laundry service'."

"Sirius?"

"Huh?"

"You haven't done the laundry in a week, have you?"

"Er … no?"

"And you ran out of clean clothes this morning?" Remus prompted.

Sirius mumbled something incoherent.

Remus grinned. "Couldn't quite catch that, Paddy, come again?"

"It was yesterday morning, actually."

Remus sighed and shook his head. "Finally, some sane human beings are going to move into that place."

"And about time too … hey!"

They heard laughter from behind them. Sirius and Remus turned around to see Harry and Dara standing in the doorway, Dara's trunk next to them.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Sure, kid," Sirius said, grinning. "Let's go."

* * *

A/N #2: Again, if anyone's actually reading this, PLEASE take the time to review! Thank you! 


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